


His Broken Pieces

by TevinterFugitive



Series: His Broken Pieces [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TevinterFugitive/pseuds/TevinterFugitive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenrir Taura's life just wasn't meant to be simple. He was convinced he was born and raised as a slave-turned-Templar in the Tevinter Imperium. And then the future Hero of Freakin'-Ferelden contacted him and flipped his life inside-out. Or maybe it was right-side out? Either way, the half-elf's life was certainly about to get even more...interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Broken Pieces

_"Mama!”_

  
_Nothing more than a muffled cry as the little boy was stripped from his bed and awoken with a jolt. Why was he being dragged? Why couldn’t he actually scream out for his mother? What was in his mouth? What was making his vision grow so hazy?_

_  
He tried kicking his legs, swinging his arms, screaming and yelling but nothing would work. He felt like he was bound and gagged, like his throat was being closed from the inside and out, like his body was trying to rip itself to pieces, but from what he could see there were absolutely no restraints on him anywhere. Was this what everyone called blood magic? He wasn’t sure blood magic was even real and he was losing his consciousness too quickly to really understand what was happening._

_  
Everything was beginning to go black. All he could see was a dim, nearly finished candle becoming smaller and smaller with every step that he was pulled from his bedroom._

_  
And then there was nothing._

_  
“Fenrir?”_

_  
A soft voice, calling his name. He felt gentle hands on his arm, shaking and rubbing him._

_  
“Fen?”_

_  
Memories of soft hands and kind voices, coaxing him in and flipping his world upside-down and ruining everything. All in a matter of seconds- things could change far too easily._

  
“Leave me alone!” He growled as he jumped awake, reaching out and swatting at nothing. Fenrir’s breath caught in his throat as air raced back into his lungs. A few tears pricked at his eyes as he shoved his face into the palms of his hands, but nothing fell. He’d learned that the waterworks only made things worse, much worse. He coughed, shook, and his chest began heaving at the sudden realization that it had all been a dream.

  
No, a memory. And it played out the exact same every time it decided to make an appearance. A wretched, repressed thing that had only been brought to light recently by his cousin. She’d sought him out, told him what had happened, as far as she knew anyways, and though he didn’t believe her and stopped responding to her, Lilla had persisted until he finally gave in to the truth. Well, ‘gave in’ to most of what she believed to be the ‘truth’. He was Fenrir Taura, cousin to Lilla Taura, also known as the Hero of Ferelden. She’d told him he’d been born in Amaranthine, but he knew he was from Vol Dorma in Tevinter. He’d remember if he was from Ferelden, he was sure of that. Something, by now, would have easily jogged his memory. Lilla had begun life as a Cousland, but changed her name upon joining the Grey Wardens in an effort to start over.

  
Her life hadn’t exactly been easy either, and she had said that when they would get to meet in person, she had a lot she wanted to tell him. He and her brother were the only family she had left, at least so she told him, but she apparently now trusted him more than anyone else. They had spoken back and forth idly through letters and she had quickly decided Fenrir’s life was much worse than hers ever had been. But that was over now, everything was changing. She promised she’d help him change it, and now here he was.

Escaping.

  
The woman who’d woken him up was crouched beside him, running a hand over his back softly and whispering gentle words against his shoulder. She laced short kisses across his skin and rested her forehead against him. “You’re alright, little templar, it’s over. I promise.”

  
Her name was Isabela, and Maker’s ass the woman was, er, _blessed_. A beautiful thing she was, and she knew it too. Fenrir hadn’t exactly been sure as to how to deal with her properly, and she had very quickly found more than one way to make the man’s face a deeper shade than bloodstone. And all she had to do was _speak_ a certain way. She’d apparently been sent to him by a woman name Leliana, who’d known of her only because of an assassin named Zevran, and these were both names Fenrir had only heard from Lilla. He knew he could trust her, at least, trust the fact that she was helping him. Surely there had been some sort of deal, as this Isabela certainly didn’t seem like the type to do anything unless it benefitted her in some way.

  
“I-I…I’m sorry,” Fenrir mumbled through his hands. He felt Isabela shift and reach for them, and he cautiously let her wrap her own hands around his. She pulled them down before cupping his face and smiling gently, forcing him to look at her.

  
“Fenrir, would you like to come up and have a look? I know you haven’t been out to sea on a ship before.”

  
She was gentle, too gentle, and Fenrir pulled himself away from her. His brown eyes were narrowed, the fear behind them blatantly obvious and his brows furrowed worriedly. “I…I don’t know.”

  
The woman nodded and stood slowly, dramatically rolling her body upwards and poking _those_ out before walking away, swinging her hips as she did. What an interesting (set of) personality(/ies) this one had.

  
"Fen?” She muttered, glancing over her shoulder at him with a grin. “I know I’m nowhere near trustworthy, but you can most certainly trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you.” She smiled, no, grinned, and her next few words were much less serious and more playful. “I really am a people person, you know.” And with that she headed out of the hold and back up to the main deck of her ship.

  
"I’ve…always wanted to see the ocean,” Fenrir muttered to himself after she was long gone. He stood, shakily, and promptly fell backwards on his ass. The broom and bucket that had been near his cot ending up strewn about around him, and he rolled his eyes. He did manage to laugh at himself, biting his lip as he slowly tried standing again. “This must be what she was talking about before we got on the ship…” He wobbled his way to the ladder, climbing slowly up it to get to the main deck. He could really smell the salty, fresh air now, and as soon as his head popped up and out into the open he thought he’d heard someone holler his name. Fenrir all too happily ignored the voice.

  
The wind whipped around him, and his nose lifted into the air as his eyes fluttered closed. A smile stretched across his lips and he wiggled his way up the rest of the ladder as quickly as he could. He opened his eyes again, standing shakily but getting the hang of balancing properly much faster this time. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered as he spun around slowly, looking out over the water. It made him woozy, he wasn’t sure he liked that, but the view. The view was more than worth the nauseous feelings in his stomach.

  
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Isabela came up beside him, grinning widely. “You found your sea legs rather quickly, I see.”

  
Fenrir grinned at her and nodded before making his way to the railing and staring out over the water. “This is…” He shook his head. He couldn’t think of a single word to describe anything he was feeling, seeing, _understanding_ for the first time. “Wow.”

  
"When you think you can handle it, climb up the main mast and have a look around from the crow’s nest.” Fenrir glanced at her blankly. “What do you mean? What’s a crow’s nest?”

  
Isabela chuckled and cupped Fenrir’s cheek, “Such a pup. You see…here, this is the center mast.” She pointed towards the ladder leading up the pole holding the fabric. “Up there, that little look-out spot, that’s called a crow’s nest.” Fenrir followed her hand and nodded slowly, raising a brow as he watched the way the fabric caught and tightened with the breeze. “It’s alright, little templar, we’ll make a pirate out of you yet.”

  
She laughed and Fenrir smiled. “Yes ma’am.” Her laugh was beautiful, it really was a shame he couldn’t even force himself to be slightly interested in her. She’d probably tell good stories, not to mention how smart she was. She’d be a fun partner to have around, but she really wasn’t Fenrir’s type in the slightest. Women in general weren’t exactly his go-to, first choice. It’d take a real special woman to get that kind of attention from him. She’d tried to come on to him a couple of times, but, well, it sort of scared him. She’d understood that though, and very kindly backed off, thankfully.

  
He did as she told him, excitedly climbing up the mast and figuring out how to worm his way into the little perch at the top. “A crow’s nest? I…guess I get it,” he mumbled as he crawled into the space and glanced around. There was no way he was going to try and stand up, not yet, or else he’d make quite the fool of himself. “Not sure anyone would appreciate me tossing up the last meal I had while being up here. Or having to catch me from all the way up here.” Quite the grumbler he was quickly turning into, though it’s not that he was unhappy. He just needed to get used to being on the ocean, or even in a boat at all. Something about being in the vast span of open water with nowhere to go absolutely terrified him. It seemed familiar, but he knew there was no way that could have been possible.

  
He got onto his knees and leaned against the railing around him. He tried shifting from his knees to his feet with no luck, so the ex-templar simply settled for leaning back and putting his weight on his thighs and calves. Anything to get the weight off his joints, though his ankles were certainly going to bother him for this later. “Weak,” he whispered and frowned as he glanced down at the wood planks beneath him. He’d always been told he was too weak because he was always hurting somewhere. But that didn’t matter now. Now, he could pretend he had no problems. Now, he could start over.

  
Fenrir picked his head up, putting his nose to the wind again and closing his eyes. “Things will be better now, I know they will.” The wind tousled his hair, whipping around him as a smile found itself on his lips once more. This was comfortable, other than the feeling of potential sea-sickness rising in his gut, and it had been quite a long time since Fenrir Taura had truly been comfortable.


End file.
